Bloodied Memories
by TheJediBakerGirl
Summary: ONESHOT. People say it's just memories, just the past that apparently couldn't hurt you when in the present. But bringing up the past again can hurt you. But when the medication didn't work for Jordan, when everything is still remembered, it never stops.


The drumming inside her head wouldn't stop, even though she had all ready taken her pills. Jordan's hands were now shaking as the meds pounded into her brain along with the memories from, what felt like, a lifetime ago.

Pills.

Jesus. With where she was, the forensics leader in the Jedi temple, she thought someone could've come up with a better way to stop the bad memories and the pain. She wasn't allowed to get the protection and medical care that the Jedi do, says Mace Windu._ 'We loose you, nothing will change. Forensics are a dime-a dozen,'_ she recalls him telling her once when she threatened to resign being the only forensics department that the Jedi temple has. Along with the only non force-enabled female to have an IQ of 258.

Thanks to a Sith lord and a bounty hunter, Jordan's life had become a train wreck. She had been kidnapped, drugged, tortured, beaten, drugged again with something that was supposed to make her forget, which it didn't, then she was released back to the Jedi.

Her head started to pound as the flashes of those three days came blasting through into her head; more amplified then before. The glass bottle of green substance, which Anakin had given to her earlier to analyze, slipped from her hands and smashed into shards against the blood red floor.  
She cursed loudly. _'All I need is another mess to clean up,'_ she thought to herself, making her curse to herself against, but much softer this time. She knelt down and, carefully with the tips of her fingers, picked up the glass that she could and laid the pieces flat in the palm of her other hand.

Then, pain. Pain that rose from Jordan's fingertips up her arm and back down again. She seared as the glass shards _clink_ and_ clatter_ed to the floor once more. She raised her hand to eye level to see that her palm, the other she had been holding the shards with, had been sliced with a deep cut. Seeing her blood wasn't a good thing. Going through the kidnapping with Bane and Dooku was bloody enough. Then the pain from her hands brought back all those memories.

_SLAM. A blow to her stomach, and Jordan crumpled over, grasping her stomach. "I don't want to do this too you," Bane explained, bending down and looking at her; she was coughing and sputtering harshly. "But you're not working with me here, Jordan. All I need to know is where Skywalker and Kenobi are stationed, and you can go free." One more cough, then Jordan looked up with blurry pink iris'ed eyes. "No," she spat, making her sound more confident and dangerous then she had felt or was. Bane stood straight, then grabbed Jordan by her hair, making her want to scream. 'No,' she told herself. _'That's giving in. We can't give in.'_ She clamped her mouth shut tightly and her body finally stood straight, though it made her feel uncomfortably dizzy. "I don't want to do this, Jordan. But you've made me be the bad guy here."__ Quiet. Cold. Dark. Hopelessness. That's all that she had. Jordan knew she wouldn't get out of here unless she gave away the position of her two best friends Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker._

_Deathly cold came to rest upon her neck, laying firm Flashes of her life against the dark walls of the cell which they had put her in. "Where is Skywalker and Kenobi?" he asked softly in her ear, a low grumble against her eardrums. Jordan's head finally clicked. A knife. There was a knife, _how primitive _she thought, against her neck. More flashes of her life on the walls. "I would rather _die_ than tell you," she said back, trying to not shake, but failing. "I am truly sorry I have to do this, Jordan."_

_His arm moved faster, the blade seemed to take double time on her. She didn't think Cad Bane would really slice her throat. But he did it. Her head started to spin out of control as her hands automatically grasped for her neck as tears slammed against her eyes and poured down her cheeks. She fell to her knees as blood seeped through her fingers and poured onto the concrete floor of the holding cell. "Make it stop!" she screamed, but the blood gurgled and muffled it as it came spewing out of her mouth. Bane got down next to her and held her shoulders gently. 'I'm going to die. Oh my lord, I'm going to die,' her head said softly; an echo against the white-padded-wall cells of her mind as she tried to stop all of the pain by holding her hands to the deep slice, which was hurting and making more tears pound from her eyes. "Please," she said, letting go of her bleeding throat, which had now soaked her shirt and was moving quickly down her stomach, "make it all stop." Her vision was blurring. "Make it stop, Bane!" she screamed, perfectly clear for the first time since her throat had been sliced. "I can't unfortunately," Bane replied, sounding like he was enjoying the girl bleed to the brink of death. Jordan couldn't help but turn herself and grab his face in her hands, leaving slight streaks of blood on the male's blue cheeks. His red eyes were about as dark as her blood in the darkness and against his navy skin."Make.... It... Stop." Jordan said it with quiet danger, then she dropped her head, spat blood, then looked back up at him. He pushed away, making her fall flat on her back, stood up, turned and then walked out of the cell. "So sorry, dear," he snarled as he walked away._  
_The blood continued to pound out of her neck; Jordan tried holding her neck until it stopped, and after what felt like forever and a week, it did. Soon, bloodloss overcame her, and the quiet, peaceful blackness of unconsciousness soon came over her._

Jordan shook of the memory; the voice, the pain, the sorrow, the fear of death, and looked frantically about the floor for the bloodied glass shard which had cut her as her hand pounded out more of crimson. She found it; it was a thin but jagged piece of the top throat - how ironic that the throat of the bottle cut me she though, as she tried not to smile - of the bottle, drops of red staining it,which had held the green substance, threatening to cut her again as she picked it up with her free, unbloodied hand.

And as Jordan sat there, on her knees, hand pounding blood, her naturally milky white skin was now taking on a brick red tint which slowly ran down her forearm to her elbow and dripped off to the glassy red tile floors, where the blood blended in all so well.

Only after the shots of pain, adrenalin, and the hoard of bad memories, did Jordan's eyesight blur with tears that now sprung to the front of her eyes, fall down her cheeks and framed her face like a clear picture frame.


End file.
